


make daddy proud

by TheLastWhiteRose



Series: Digital Druglord [3]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Rape, Sexual Abuse, oof, what's wrong with me?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: It would be so easy to kill him, thought Jumin. He's just laying there. It wouldn't take much, and nobody would accuse me of murder. Hell, I could even say it was self defense. I certainly have the wounds for it. He was right; it would be simple to end his own suffering. With the correct pressure applied to his father’s neck, he could snap it. Or, if Jumin was vengeful enough, he could tie him up and torture him, prolonging his angst.





	make daddy proud

**Author's Note:**

> I told you this series was angst. HA. Ha. H a.

The reflection in the mirror was not Jumin. At least, not the Jumin that (MC) would recognize. This Jumin was littered with maroon love bites, scattered around his collarbone, drifting down to his stomach. This Jumin was battered, with the space between his muscled thighs bruised and aching, blood seeping from his backside to the beginning of his balls. This Jumin had whip marks strewn about his near swollen back, his innocence abandoned in exchange for endless debauchery. This Jumin was sixteen years old, attempting to solve the mystery of his sexuality, and struggling with the increased strain of his father’s sexual abuse.

Behind him, the lump in the blankets stirred, and Jumin prepared for the nauseating warmth of his father’s cock sliding in between his ass, but the rustling was followed by a slight groan, and then the relief of snoring. Tired eyes followed his hands’ movement as they slathered pale foundation onto the most noticeable marks. He felt emasculated, having to resort to such feminine means of preserving his reputation. With several agony inducing steps, Jumin made it to the toilet, and slowly began folding the soft tissue. Pain radiated through his behind as the blood leaked into the pristine paper, causing him to grimace.

 _It would be so easy to kill him, thought Jumin. He's just laying there. It wouldn't take much, and nobody would accuse me of murder. Hell, I could even say it was self defense. I certainly have the wounds for it._ He was right; it would be simple to end his own suffering. With the correct pressure applied to his father’s neck, he could snap it. Or, if Jumin was vengeful enough, he could tie him up and torture him, prolonging his angst.

In the end, Jumin decided against it. It was only two years until he graduated high school, and with his high school diploma, he earned his freedom. Jumin slid the crisp white button up onto his pallid body, silently commending himself on the splendid achievement of covering all the marks that would've been visible. Next came his boxers, which was the hardest part of getting dressed after a session like this one. Jumin tore open a pad, one that was typically assigned to women on their period. Again, he felt undeniable shame at using something clearly meant for women. With shocking coherency, Jumin managed to place the absorbent paper between the cleft of his ass and balls.

The entire process took an hour. After making sure he was properly dressed, Jumin had to tidy up his hair, finish cleaning the bite marks on his neck, and rehearse a plausible story for his inability to move well. Once situated, Jumin smiled, his teeth wavering as he whimpered softly. He was ready to go out into the world.

 

* * *

“Jumin? Jumin!” (MC) snapped her fingers impatiently at him, her wide eyes looking at him in concern. “Jumin, now isn't a good time. You're supposed to give the eulogy,” she whispered, her hand tightening against his.

Jumin blinked, coming to his senses as to where he was. The sheet of paper with his speech written on it felt one hundred times heavier. He turned his head, and was met to the sight of his father’s open coffin.

Ah, yes. The bastard finally got what was coming to him.


End file.
